Maleficence
31st of Searing, Year 123 of the Age of Steel (x)
Unfortunately, Veriel soon found out that idleness invited thoughts of Ryo. The siltori hadn’t realized how much being on the run and worrying about being captured had managed to distract her from the grief of losing him. Adding to it, her encounter with Irdan had only fueled her nightmares. It was as if a crucial piece of the puzzle in her memories had been missing, leaving everything shrouded in a vague haze. But now, with that final piece snapping into place, the haunting scene surged back with a relentless, heart-wrenching clarity.
To her embarrassment, Veriel had already woken her cellmates twice by screaming in the middle of the night. It had been years since that last happened and this time Laelithar and his magic were not here to ease her torment. The darkness of the prison seemed to close in around her, amplifying her fears and the hollow ache of loss.
Today, the dawnmartyr decided to channel all those unpleasant feelings that had been festering inside her into something more productive. All the other prisoners had been coraled out to the gardens and Veriel was sat alone in her prison cell. The door was hanging open, but there was no place for her to go.
Veriel sat cross-legged in the dimly lit corner of the cell, her breath steady and her eyes closed. The unpleasant earrings they had implanted in her ears prevented her from reaching out with her afflictions, but somehow it did not restrict any aetheric movement inside her. She couldn’t tell if it was an oversight from a poor understanding of affliction or if they simply underestimated her skill, but whatever it was Veriel was grateful.
First, she had to visualize him. Irdan.
Veriel saw him standing tall, his imposing figure casting a long shadow. His dark black wings, their feathers glinting ominously in her mind's eye. His black hair slicked back to perfection, framing the sharp, angular features that twisted into a cruel sneer. The scar over his right eye, a jagged reminder of their last encounter eighteen years ago, stood out starkly against his pale skin - a fleeting victory in a battle she ultimately lost.
As she wanted, the thought of Irdan intensified the affliction she sought to conjure. Veriel could feel it, the curse taking the first steps of form as ethereal tendrils of aether that twisted and coiled like serpents deep in her being. She thought of the pain and the rot she wished upon the Kathar, pulling from every little ailment she ever encountered. They writhed as she laced them together, already eager to be released.
But this was just the beginning. The curse needed time to grow, to mature. Each day, she would return to this dark ritual, feeding it with more wrath and sorrow. The curse would become stronger, deeper with each passing day, woven layer by layer. She knew creating the affliction in her body would be dangerous if she didn’t pace herself and she had no intention of dying before getting justice for Ryo. It would take a toll on her, but nonetheless, it was also a small comfort, a promise of the retribution that would one day find the man who had torn her world apart.
This was only the first move, and she would see it through to the bitter end.